One More Thing
by kardamon
Summary: "I do," comes Haymitch's voice and for a moment she has this odd thought that he sounds as if he was making a marriage vow. Imagine Katniss was present at her trial for the final sentence announcement.
1. One more thing

**Another Hayniss glimpse, this one darker.**

 **I haven't watched the last movie yet, so it's based mostly on the book, in case there is any inconsistency.**

 **Rated T for swearing.**

 **(Sadly) unbetaed.**

 **Disclaimer: I'm doing much more disclaiming than claiming these days, but oh well... Here is another one: I don't own any part of the 'Hunger Games' universe.**

* * *

She drifts through the endless noise wrapped in thick layers of indifference. She tuned out the meaningless chatter long ago, around the time when she heard the only thing she still found herself slightly curious about – whether they were going to kill her or not. The rest was just rubbish.

So she sits there on the court bench more bored than anything, her eyes dull and empty. She doesn't really get why they wanted her there for announcing the sentence, but she doesn't care one way or another, so she let them scrub her and dress her up like a doll one last time.

She vaguely registers the presence of her mother and her friends ( _or is it former friends?_ ) sprinkled around the courtroom and the fact that they all seemed troubled after the judge's announcement. She thinks there was some kind of question posed, but she's not sure, nor is she interested.

It's the dead silence stretching out for minutes that catches her attention and makes her eventually look up at the room.

"Un-fucking-believable," she hears rude yet somehow very familiar voice cutting through the tension.

"Mr. Abernathy, unless you wish to leave this room immediately, you will restrain yourself from speaking out of turn and using such language."

Katniss's glance slowly travels through the space until it settles on the lone figure of her former mentor. She sees him standing up instead of hanging his head down in apology and she instantly knows that he's not going to back down on whatever it is he is set on fighting for. He towers over the crowd and looks up as he speaks again.

"You can kick me out, but someone has to say it. I don't care if you see it fit to punish me afterwards," he says and she is surprised by the angry note ringing in his voice, as well as the fact that he sounds completely sober. And then he looks around the room and utters very clearly, for all to hear: "What the hell is wrong with you?"

The same tense ( _guilty?_ ) silence settles over the room and despite herself she finds herself slightly interested in what is going on.

There is some kind of commotion and she sees two guards making their way across the room toward Haymitch but they are not quick enough to prevent him from talking:

"You claimed to love this girl," he continues and his gaze darts accusingly toward Gale sitting a few rows away from him, who shifts uncomfortably under his stare. "Every single one of you, the whole fucking nation. You wiped your mouths with her name, you didn't hesitate to use her time and time again, whenever it suited you. You took everything she had to give. You swore you would die for her. Not even one of you is ready to vouch for her when all is said and done? Where is your fucking loyalty now? Bloody cowards, all of you."

Katniss blinks slowly when it occurs to her that he's talking about her and it bewilders her that he would ( _that anyone would_ ) care enough to put any effort, let alone emotions into raising argument over her.

"She did kill the wrong president, Mr. Abernathy," says some slightly mocking voice she doesn't know nor does she care for. "Forgive the good people of Panem for thinking that it takes away some of her credibility."

There is some hammering ( _the gavel_ , she thinks absentmindedly), but Haymitch opens his mouth again and by the look on his face and the defiant spark in his eye she knows, she just _knows_ that he has figured it out and that he is going to say something about misplaced arrows versus misplaces bombs ( _Is that why he's doing this? Why he is acting so reckless despite all the craftiness she knows he can possess? Is that what pushed him past his breaking point?_ ) when the guards finally reach him and grab his arms firmly to escort him out of the room before he can do some irreparable damage. She watches him with some sadness knowing that he got in trouble by mouthing off during her trial, but she can't seem to be able to break through the shell of numbness she had willingly hidden herself under to sparkle any stronger feeling.

Just then, by a strange whim ( _or is that a spark of genius?_ ) the judge decides to speak up:

"Would you be willing to step up yourself, then?" he asks Haymitch.

"As the matter of fact, I would," is Haymitch's short-tempered response and she realizes that she doesn't even know what he's agreeing to. The thought stirs something uncomfortable in her gut and she starts sinking back into the fog that fills her mind lately

"Very well, then. It seems we have solved the problem."

She doesn't register much after that, just the fact that the guards let go of Haymitch and then bits and pieces of the exchange between the judge and the rogue mentor.

"Do you willingly accept the position of a guardian to Katniss Everdeen also known as …" "…fully aware of the mental state of the…" "and take personal responsibility for any actions that she may commit during the time she remains under your supervision…"

"I do," comes Haymitch's voice and for a moment she has this odd thought that he sounds as if he was making a marriage vow.

There is some more babbling, some more gavel hitting and then they're un-cuffing her wrists and leading her away. She walks unsurely, confused as to where she is supposed to go, but she manages to make it to the side door and suddenly she is in a much smaller room, more or less free. It looks like some kind of waiting room and she doesn't know how long she stands there awkwardly not knowing what to do with herself until the door opens again and her mother comes in, followed by a quiet Haymitch who is staying a few steps behind her. Katniss looks at them expectantly.

"I wanted to say goodbye to you before you leave," her mother whispers and looks down as if she is ashamed of something, much like Gale did under Haymitch's glare.

"Goodbye?" Katniss repeats confused, pieces of what she heard in the courtroom coming together. Oh yes – they are letting her go, but sending her away, that was the deal.

"Yes."

"You're not coming?" Katniss asks and she knows that she should feel more hurt and disappointed, or at least surprised when it becomes clear that she's right. She doesn't feel much of anything.

"No. I… I'm sorry Katniss, I can't. Not yet, anyway. It's too hard. I can't go back there."

 _Go back?_

"Where exactly are they taking me?"

"Home," Haymitch says and she looks up at him. There is a hint of concern in his eyes and she realizes that she should have known the answer to that question since the decision about that has been just made in her presence. "I'm taking you home."

But the word is so foreign that she only furrows her eyebrows.

"To Twelve," he clears up.

That makes her feel equal parts longing and scared and all together unsettled, so she blinks rapidly several times.

( _because her home is as much a ruin as she herself is_ )

"And she's not coming?" she confirms still talking to Haymitch rather than to her mother.

"She's not," he says stoically, but if Katniss is not mistaken, she catches him shooting a momentary look of contempt toward the women in question.

( _She can almost hear the unspoken thought attached to it and she's not completely disagreeing_ )

"Then why is she here?"

"Katniss… don't be mad…" her mother's voice wavers. "It's been a shock… but I just wanted to check if you were all right before you go."

With that, Katniss turns toward her and gives her an empty look.

"I'm dandy," she says dryly. A few seconds of loaded silence pass before she turns back to Haymitch: " _You_ are coming with me, right?" she continues her queries grasping for some stable ground and surprisingly finding it when he simply nods.

She swallows, not sure why it seemed important to confirm that, when nothing is important anymore.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I have no intention of staying in this God-awful city any longer than I have to," he says abruptly and marches toward the second door saving them all from another excruciatingly tense moment.

She follows him automatically and her conscious mind checks out the second she sees yet another long corridor ahead of her. She doesn't pay attention to where they are going or what is being said on the way, or even when her mother disappears only to be replaced by a security team.

That's probably why it comes as much of a shock when they finally reach the last door and it opens on the street filled with the sea of people. All eyes are on her as she walks out. The soldiers are around her, but the crowd keeps trying to push forward from every possible direction. Some flashes go off signaling the cameras capturing her broken form and then the words hit her like a flock of jabber-jays. She tenses up like a frightened animal and digs her heels when the questions, accusations and insults fly by her ears. Panic takes over and she wants to bolt but she has troubles with catching her breath and she almost falls right there, stopped only by a strong arm catching her in time and steering her firmly toward the car waiting for her nearby.

She doesn't remember anything from the drive beside the fact that she squeezes her eyelids shut and works on steadying her breathing.

She opens her eyes only when they stop moving and it's time to swap the car for the hovercraft. It's barely noon, but she feels drained as she climbs the steps on shaky legs.

Inside she quickly finds a small cabin and walks straight toward a plain, narrow bench where she lays down on her side with one hand dangling from the edge and stares at the wall. Haymitch takes a place on the bench across from her. The hovercraft takes off and finally, things get calmer as they get higher and higher, away from the Capitol.

( _So, that's it?_ she thinks. _Is it over now? Is this how it ends?_ )

She looks at Haymitch critically, watching him searching his pockets for a smuggled bottle and wonders why they wanted him to go with her. Did they intend for him to be her caretaker? Guard dog? Is he supposed to guide her somehow?

A mad laughter starts to bubble inside her at the thought, the blind leading the blind, but it abruptly dies before it can even spill out of her mouth when she suddenly realizes that her mentor still has one thing to teach her, the one thing he had mastered to perfection during the last quarter of century: how to live after your heart had been ripped out of your chest.

She already knows it hurts about as much as trying to walk on broken legs.

She glances at him again stunned by the nagging question as to how it is even possible that he still gives a shit and that after all these years he retained enough strength and will to take a chance one her, more than once. It occurs to her for the first time that maybe he hasn't fared so bad, all things considered.

( _that maybe she doesn't deserve him_ )

That's a truly frightening thought.

…

( _Or maybe he can just teach her how to drink without coughing her lungs out_ )

* * *

 **If you liked this fic, you might want to check out my other Hayniss short story, 'The Last Place in the World'.**

 **You might also consider leaving me a review - I would appreciate that :)**


	2. Close enough

**Here is some follow-up.**

* * *

"Sometimes, I hate people," Haymitch says out of the blue staring out of the window.

She glances at him, not sure what prompted his sudden need to share that little tidbit.

"Only sometimes?" she asks without thinking, the bite of sarcasm unexpectedly feeling like the closest thing to the spark of life she'd come to in the past few weeks and she suddenly understands Haymitch just a tad bit better.

He lets out a surprised, throaty chuckle in response. She supposes that objectively it's not a nice sound – dark and tainted with bitterness, but the sense of companionship she finds in their shared dry, twisted humor makes it strangely comforting.

"Listen," she says before the moment dies and the numbness swallows her again. "I know you probably agreed to do to this only because no-one else did. I'm sorry you have to come with me."

He looks up at her sharply. It startles her when she sees the stubborn set of his jaw.

"I'm not," he almost spits.

As she comprehends what it is that he's really telling her, it dawns on her that she is, by all means, looking at her most loyal friend, the one that sticks by her side at the end, the only one she has left.

( _and she doesn't know if it should make her laugh or cry_ )

She stares into his tired, steely-grey eyes and she is surprised to see the level of understanding that she can find in there, lurking just beneath the surface. What surprises her even more is that it doesn't bother her. Had it been anyone else daring to think that they could relate in any way to what had happened to her, to usurp the right to comprehend how it felt to…

She stops that train of thought before it drags her into the place that hurts more that she can withstand and shuts that door in her mind for time being.

…but it's not just anyone. It's Haymitch and if anybody knows their share about the pain, loss and guilt that comes with dealing with your loved ones being crushed and killed for no other reason than their connection to you, unforeseen consequences of your own desperate actions taken under the impression that they were the only possible choice at the moment; about dead siblings assassinated by soulless dictators because of something that you've done –

If anybody can claim that they understand how that feels like, it's Haymitch.

But of course he doesn't say anything like that. It's not his way: talking. They're not good with words, either of them.

( _Unlike someone else you once knew_ , an unwanted voice whispers inside her head before she shakes it off)

Instead she feels one of his hands brushing and then leaning against one of her own. It could be written off as an accident if not for the fact that he doesn't break the contact. She studies him as he sits there on the bench, crouched forward with his elbows resting heavily on his knees, a metal flask in his other hand. He looks away from her and toward the window again, but he keeps his hand in place and his silent presence is so undemanding that she doesn't pull away either. The longer they stay this way, the more obvious it becomes that it's deliberate.

He's not holding her hand exactly – God knows neither of them is one for that – just touching. It's not an offer either, really. It's not even a promise of help –

( _it's hardly a promise at all – he knows no promises can be kept for sure_ )

\- but it's a sign that he's there, with her.

Maybe because it's such a small gesture, it doesn't feel intrusive. He doesn't expect anything from her: not even to get better.

It's not much.

It's exactly what she can handle at the moment.


End file.
